Pell's grip on her didn't loosen right away. His arms rattled faintly around her, bones locked as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. When he finally pulled back, the soul-flames in his sockets flickered sharp and unsteady.

"Kid," he rasped. "What the hell happened? Last thing I saw, you were screaming, getting dragged into that cursed painting. Then nothing." His skull tilted down, sockets narrowing as they fixed on her pale robes, her white eyes. "Now you crawl back out in… that."

Enya straightened her sleeves. Her voice was steady, almost too steady. "I gained a new skill inside. It let me pull in another soul. That's how I got out."

"A new skill? Part of your Necrosmith class?"

"Mn."

Pell rubbed the back of his bony skull. "What a relief, then. Hells, if you didn't get that maybe you'd have been stuck in there forever." His tone carried a sigh of relief, though his sockets stayed wary. "But this… look. Is that also from the skill? What exactly is wrong with you right now?"

"Wrong?" Enya's reply was sharp. "Am I not… normal?"

Taken aback, Pell faked a hollow cough. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean why do you look so different. Your eyes are white, your clothes are completely different."

Enya's expression softened at his change of tone. "Um… yes. It's part of the skill. It makes me… control the dead better. It's… what? A transform skill?" she asked, unsure of the word.

Pell crossed his arms, glancing her over. "Transform feels like an understatement. You're paler, your eyes are fog, and your clothes changed too. What kind of skill does that?" His voice trailed, more muttering to himself.

He shook his head. "Whatever, that's not important right now." He turned, scanning the second floor. The holes from the Dullahan's swings were gone. The splintered wood was whole again, polished clean as if nothing had touched it.

"The paintings are even filled now." His sockets darted between the six canvases along the balcony. Each was painted with something different—some shapes were too far to make out, just blotches of color—but it hardly mattered. His gaze settled on what drew him most.

"The main door is open," Pell said flatly.

Enya looked up. At the top of the steps, the double doors stood ajar. A pale light bled through, but nothing beyond was visible.

"Elria must have completed the puzzle and escaped herself," Pell muttered. He turned back to Enya. "Do you still have that creepy bear?"

Enya reached inside her deathly robes, shadows whispering as they parted for her hand.

Spotting the creepy shadow tendrils, Pell could only murmur under his breath, "Creepy…"

Enya shot him a sharp look, catching it.

He coughed again, awkward and dry. Why's she taking offense to every little comment now?

"I have it," Enya said, pulling the voidlight teddy bear free. Its stitched face stared back, unchanged.

"Well, from what we know—Elria can't leave without that thing," Pell said, pointing a finger at the bear. "But that also means we can't leave without it either. Since she opened the path for us, odds are we'll have to fight her. And seeing all that witchcraft she pulled, I doubt we'd win. There's also the wraiths. If that exit leads back outside, we might run into level 100 monsters. Another monster like the Dullahan and we'd die. Elria had even been holding it back last time. We can't win."

"We can," Enya said simply.

Pell's soul-flames flickered, narrowing. "Why are you so confident now?"

Enya didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the nearest painting.

Pell followed it. His sockets landed on a hulking troll—or ogre—inside the frame. Its flesh was rotted, its two heads slack with undeath.

"What the hell…" he muttered.

"I am strong right now, Pell," Enya said. Her tone was calm, too calm. "I think we can do it. We can reach the cauldron. Elria too. We can kill her."

Pell's gaze dropped back down to her. Kill her, huh…

It wasn't the first time he'd heard Enya talk about killing. She had suggested it for things that annoyed her. Once, she even joked about killing birds just to see how they looked dead. But there was something different this time. The way she spoke was flat, decisive. Not childish impulse, not frustration—just cold intent. It didn't feel like a whim or a joke this time.

He was angry at Elria too. Furious. But to suggest it outright like this… it didn't feel right. Something seemed too off.

Pell shook the thought away. "Well, if you think this new skill of yours can do it, then fine. Let's continue. I don't give a damn about this witch stuff. I just need to see what happened to Elara—and give Amberdean a piece of my mind."

The name stuck in Enya's head. Everything else washed away, leaving only that one island.

Elara. Pell.

It all begins with Lia. You must get rid of her.

Her eyes sharpened. Pell really must have liked Elara. Maybe… he loved her. Maybe Enya could help him.

"Alright then," Pell said, straightening up. His bony fingers flexed, and with a flick of his arm the Harvester scythe appeared in his grip. He slung it over his shoulder, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim.

The two of them rose and crossed the hall together. The double doors loomed above the staircase, white mist spilling faintly from the threshold. Pell rolled his shoulders, scythe balanced over one of them.

"I'll go first," he said. Without waiting for argument, he stepped into the haze.

Enya lingered a few seconds, hand brushing the voidlight bear inside her robes, then followed.

The world shifted.

They were back in the foggy prison. The ground was dirt, dark and soft underfoot, the path stretching only a few feet before vanishing into mist. Above, the sky was the same muted gray, neither day nor night.

Pell exhaled. "Well. At least this is familiar." He tapped the scythe against the ground. "But we don't have the Carrier's light anymore. Can't keep the wraiths off us. Elria probably took it… maybe even the Dullahan too."

Enya's eyes softened. "It should be fine."

She released her aura. It spread like smoke from her skin, invisible but heavy. Pell staggered half a step, caught off guard. A weight pressed into him, forcing his spine to bend, knees twitching as if to drop and kneel. He gritted his teeth and shoved the urge down.

"What the hell is that?" His voice came out rougher than he intended.

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Enya glanced up at him, calm. "Part of my skill. It works on the undead."

Pell stared at her for a moment, then gave a stiff nod. "…Guess I won't complain, then."

They moved along the dirt path. The fog ahead stirred, faint screeches echoing from within. Enya narrowed her eyes and widened her aura. The pressure rippled outward, cold and absolute. The screeches cut off mid-cry.

When they stepped forward, the figures came into view. Wraiths, half-shapes of screaming smoke, their long claws curled toward the ground. Not one of them moved. They stood rigid in the fog, as if frozen mid-attack, the sound of their cries caught in their throats.

Pell's sockets flared. "Well, I'll be damned. They really won't touch us." He lowered his scythe, swinging it once into the nearest wraith. The blade struck, but the impact was shallow, leaving nothing more than a faint cut across its ethereal form.

"Tch." Pell clicked his teeth. "High level. Too damn high. My weapon can't even cut into them."

Enya tilted her head. "So that means we can't do that… farming thing Elria talked about?"

Pell grimaced and pulled the scythe back to his shoulder. "Not here. Not against these. We could hit them all day and they'd barely notice. If we really wanted to farm, we'd have to go back down and deal with weaker ones first."

The wraith in front of him didn't move, its smoky claws twitching but never daring to lift. Enya's aura still pressed down, keeping them in place.

Pell dragged his scythe along the dirt, the blade catching faint sparks of soul-light as it scraped. He swung again at one of the wraiths. This time, the weapon bounced off entirely, as if striking solid stone. He clicked his teeth. "Stronger than before. Damn things aren't even flinching."

Enya kept walking. The mist parted for her, the wraiths retreating a step into the fog with each pulse of her aura.

Pell caught up beside her. "Kid," he said, his voice rough but quieter now. "What happened in there? Inside that painting?"

Her steps slowed. For a moment, the swirling white in her eyes seemed to blur, like a storm cloud turning over itself. "I… saw things," she murmured. "Visions. Memories of my past."

Pell's sockets flared wide. "Your past? You mean you actually remember it now?"

Enya gave a small nod. Her gaze lowered, avoiding his flames. "I saw… griffins. I was petting them. They were mine. And I had a teacher. His name was…" she hesitated, searching, "…Terrace? Maybe?"

"Didn't you tell me you had a title? You were the disciple of someone. You're terrible at names. Just pull it up."

Enya paused. She pulled her status screen into view, scanning the faint blue letters. "Tambourine… tambour—Ah. You're right. It wasn't Terry. It was Terran." She swallowed. "Apprentice of Terran. That's the title."

That's four separate names now, Pell thought.

Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on. "I couldn't see him clearly, but… I was close to him. He taught me magic, I think. He was a tutor my parents hired."

Pell scratched the edge of his skull with a bony finger, clearly trying to process it.

"And there was a castle," Enya continued, her words coming softer, almost as if confessing. "I lived in it. I saw the hallways. There were a lot of paintings. And I saw… my parents. I was talking to them, I think. Their faces were smiling at me, but I couldn't hear them clearly."

Pell lowered his scythe and stared at her. "All that was in the painting?"

"Yes," Enya replied, a little too quickly. Then, after a moment, she added, "But it's not the first time. Back in the spiderling caves… when I expanded my soul-energy capacity. I saw the vision then, too. My home. My family. I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure what it meant."

Her fingers brushed against the voidlight bear hidden in her robes. She held his gaze for half a second, then looked away again.

The wraiths had stopped completely, lining the fog like silent sentinels, their faces twisted but unmoving under her death acolyte aura's grip.

They walked in silence for a while, the fog curling around their ankles, the wraiths drifting aside like reeds parting for a boat. Pell's scythe dragged lightly against the dirt path, but he didn't swing it again.

After a few steps, he spoke, voice low. "So… those memories. They were good, then?"

Enya's white eyes dimmed faintly. She gave a small nod. "Yes. They were good."

Pell tilted his skull toward her, the flicker of his flames sharp. "Then that means you weren't abandoned. Something must've happened. You and your family got separated?"

Enya's lips parted, then closed again. Her hands curled into the folds of her robe. "…No. I don't think I was abandoned. Probably… something happened. I was sent away. Something… I don't know."

Pell let out a hollow sound close to a chuckle, though it was rough, half-broken. "Well, if that's the case, then that's good. Means you've got parents that care and love you. Means once we get out of this nightmare, you can contact them. Maybe even go home. We can part ways so you don't have to stick around my old bones anymore."

Enya didn't answer. She just kept walking, her eyes fixed on the fog ahead. Her silence stretched heavy, the ground beneath her feet crumbling faintly with each step.

I know he's just saying that to be nice. But… it also feels like he wants me to leave.

She was still hiding the truth. Because she knew. Those smiles, that warmth—those were Lia's parents. Lia's castle. Lia's life.

Not hers.

Enya wasn't the one with parents.

The fog swallowed the thought whole, leaving only the sound of Pell's steady footsteps beside her.

They walked on another twenty minutes, their talk drifting into small, mundane things. Enya's aura spread wider, pressing against the fog itself. The screeches of the wraiths faded away entirely, as if the sound itself no longer dared to exist.

Pell glanced back, his flames narrowing when he saw them.

An army followed.

A few dozen wraiths trailed in silence, their translucent forms drifting like smoke. They moved like disciplined soldiers, held together with a chain and leash.

These wraiths were completely unkillable. After seeing that Pell's scythe completely rebounded off their forms—he suggested she command them to kill each other instead. If he couldn't hurt it, then surely her new command over these undead beings could work.

Enya did as he said, and commanded one wraith to kill another one. It did, but nothing came of it.

"No exp? Not even a kill notification?"

Enya shook her head. "No. Nothing."

"Damn. That could've been good for leveling. I don't usually care about levels, but if it was going to be this easy, then why not—easy merchant levels for the hell of it. But the damn system's too picky…"

Enya kept quiet. She had her own thoughts.

Maybe it was because she wasn't in control of the killing blow. Or maybe it was because the System was never meant to register this. She was using Nekron's power, a gift from outside the Archons' chains. If the System was built as a limiter, then it would never recognize something like this.

She couldn't say for sure, but the reasoning made sense.

And so she stayed quiet, letting Pell talk while she thought. Things felt awkward. Pell kept asking, kept trying to fill the silence, but Enya didn't feel like answering much. Her body felt heavy, too. Like something was draining her. It was probably just the skill she was using making her tired. But being a little tired was fine. She'd gotten enough rest inside the painting.

Four months in there was plenty of rest.

The fog thinned as they walked, and soon the path sloped upward. Ahead, the ground simply ended. A sheer cliff edge stretched wide, cut jagged against the pale sky.

Pell walked up to it first, and Enya came to stand beside him. Below, the ravine wasn't empty this time. It churned like a pit of mist, packed with wailing spirits. Countless forms twisted together, faceless shadows clawing at one another. The sound was a chorus of despair, like wind screaming through hollow bone. These weren't ordinary undead. These were souls themselves, raw and brimming with energy.

Her white eyes flickered faintly. "Souls…" she whispered. "There are… so many."

Pell grunted. "Doesn't matter what's down there. Point is, it's another stupid gap. A loud one, this time. Can you make one of those bone bridges again? Like you did yesterday?"

Enya blinked, her head tilting slightly. "Yesterday?"

Pell glanced down at her. "Yeah. Yesterday. It's been a few hours so I'm assuming a day has passed already." Pell's flames flickered, then dimmed when he saw the confusion on her face. "Oh. Has it been longer than that?" He scratched the side of his jawbone.

Right. Figures. When I'm unsummoned, I don't feel time pass. Not even a second. One moment I was staring at Elria's chest—" He stopped abruptly, coughed hard into his bony hand, and corrected himself. "Er. Her… revived body. Insulting her. The next thing I know, I'm standing here with you and your fancy new power."

Chest? Enya's brow rose faintly. She didn't understand what he meant by that, but she caught the stumble. Still, she didn't ask. Pell was always weird. Instead, she looked back at the ravine and nodded. "Ah. Probably a few days. Not yesterday, I don't think. But close enough."

"Close enough," Pell echoed, shrugging. "So. Can you do it?"

"Yes."

Bone shuddered up from the cliff's edge, thick ivory shafts snapping into place one after another. They arched outward, fusing and weaving like ribs pulled into a bridge. The cries from below grew louder as if the souls knew they were being stepped over, their wails echoing through the marrow.

Enya's eyes glimmered faintly white as she willed the last segment into place. The bridge locked with a heavy crack, spanning the ravine.

She lowered her arm. "It's done."

Pell stepped onto it first, testing the bone with his scythe haft. It held. He let out a grunt. "Never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad you've got all this creepy death magic now. Beats falling into that mess down there."

Enya followed behind, her pale eyes lingering on the writhing souls below. She could feel them. Each one like a candle flickering in the dark, begging to be snuffed out or reignited. For just a moment, her fingers twitched at her side.

Then she forced her gaze ahead and walked on.

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